question and answer
by Misty Reeyus
Summary: "What do you think it's like to die?" [Velvet/Magilou, smut]


minific prompt #17: things you said that i wish you hadn't

* * *

"What do you…think it's like to die?"

The breathy, rushed sentence makes Velvet pause in the middle of her thrust, the three right-hand fingers that have been plunged inside Magilou suddenly going still. Amber eyes whirl until they're locked onto their target's face, flashing dangerously in the dim light as the restrained claws of Velvet's left hand dig sharply into Magilou's thigh.

"Seriously? Why the hell would you ask this _now_?" Velvet hisses. "Or even at all?"

"It's just a question, Vel-cake," Magilou drawls, cocking her head. "What, you never thought about it?"

Velvet narrows her eyes suspiciously, and Magilou automatically smirks back. She's playing with fire, being this cheeky when Velvet's already knuckle-deep inside her, but that's the whole point. Chatter up a storm, push some buttons, test Velvet's limits and see where it takes her.

Velvet's been _especially_ irritable since Aball, and she's only gotten more and more vicious as their search for the therions goes on. If Magilou plays her cards right, maybe she can get herself decked. Or better yet, choked out, even.

"I wonder how it feels," Magilou rambles on, testing the waters. "How much does it hurt? Is it cold, dark, empty? Does it leave you forever frozen with your regrets?"

Before Magilou knows it, though, the smile slips from her face like wet paint, and her gaze shifts to the side and voice drops into a low undertone. "Or maybe it's a relief. To be freed from this world. To end this whole dithering charade and be put at last to rest."

Crap. Magilou's not actually sure where she's going with this now, or who it is she's really talking about. Still, her tongue keeps moving, no longer fully under her control.

"Velvet? Once you no longer have anything to live for, what do you think it's like to die?"

Magilou stops herself there, then forces herself to recapture Velvet's gaze. She's visibly _tight_ now where she wasn't before, teeth clenched and eyes simmering with wild heat, and she doesn't deign to give Magilou an answer before abruptly diving in, biting down _hard_ on her perked nipple. A yelp rips from Magilou's throat but ends up being muffled as Velvet manages to shove her other hand over her mouth, and down below, three fingers becomes five becomes a fist that brutally slams into her. Magilou squeezes her eyes shut and arches with ecstasy as she's filled up, stretched out to her limit, her screams of both pain and pleasure stifled against dirty, bitter-tasting bandages.

A quick series of rough, merciless thrusts, and Magilou's a goner, her orgasm peaking and crashing over her like an ocean wave. As she comes, she continues to ruck up against Velvet, until she's so exhausted and limp that the hand just slides right out of her. Magilou can't even gather enough strength to open her eyes again before Velvet's weight is shifting off of the mattress, and when Magilou eventually does manage to look, Velvet is standing at the bedside, already halfway dressed.

There's a sticky pool dripping over Magilou's leg where Velvet was humping her knee, proof that the daemon has managed to achieve her own release too, and Magilou purses her lip. She ought to be satisfied that she succeeded in getting Velvet so worked up—but right now, somehow, Magilou just feels like she ended up playing herself.

Once Velvet is finished tugging on her clothes, she heads straight for the door, clearly ready to make her exit now that their escapade is through. But once she puts her hand on the doorknob, she suddenly goes still, and Magilou watches curiously, silence hovering over them both for a whole minute before Velvet finally breaks it.

"I think," Velvet murmurs quietly, not even glancing back, "it's easier to die than to be the one left behind."

Then, without another word, she's gone.

* * *

(Some years later, on a lonely night with too much ale and too much time to reminisce, Magilou will remember that conversation. Among the myriad other memories of words hissed in the throes of their nights together, that statement will pop out—the mournful whisper of a gorgeous girl whose beloved family was taken too soon, who was then _herself_ taken too soon. And Magilou will slam her head onto the table, clutch at her chest as it begins to twinge and ache, and moan out loud to a ghost who will never hear her:

"Hah. You're telling me, sweetheart.")


End file.
